Harry Potter and the Man Who Failed
by UnrequitedDream
Summary: A series of murders leaves the Wizarding world in a state of fear and confusion not seen in nearly 20 years, especially for one particular Wizarding Family. . . R/Hr H/G and lots of Next Gen stuff in too. Please R&R!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

The Leaky Cauldron was full of witches and wizards enjoying good food and fellowship. Some days it was hard to believe nineteen years had passed. Hannah Abbot Longbottom, now the owner of the Cauldron, crossed the room to hand out a complimentary round of butter beers to her favorite customers. She was nearly knocked over by a scruffy, older wizard who was not watching where he was walking. Hannah Longbottom stumbled slightly as she took in the man's appearance. At first glance, there did not appear to be anything menacing about him, just another man who had celebrated a bit too much for whatever reason. Old habits still ingrained from her days in Dumbledore's Army, Hannah felt compelled to take a closer look.

His clothes were ragged. His hair was matted and the odor of stale Firewhiskey wafted off him. He looked as if he had not slept in week, his balance was off she gathered from how he swayed back and forth though he seemed rooted to the floor. Hannah surmised, with years of experience from owning The Leaky Cauldron that his uneven stance was probably due to being completely sloshed. After taking this closer look, she quickly realized that there was nothing sinister about the older wizard.

Hannah was just about to coolly find out what he needed. When she noticed the reason for his inattention—his eyes were glued to the large party that took up the entire back room of the pub. Hannah allowed her gaze to follow his, a smile brightening her features. She understood the intensity of the man's gaze. After all it wasn't every day that you saw the three heroes of the last great Wizarding war doing something as normal as having dinner with their families.

She reached out and tapped the man on the shoulder, "Sir? Is there something I can do for you?"

Unsurprisingly, the man nearly jumped out of his skin at Hannah's words. He struggled to change his focus from the large gathering to Hannah's gaze. He tried to speak, but for several moments was unable to do anything but stutter wordlessly. Finally he managed a feeble "Is that . . . ?" Hannah nodded, and began gently steering the man towards an available seat at the bar.

"Yes, they are. Let's give them some privacy now; it's a bit of a family affair. Why don't you come sit over here and I'll get you some steak and kidney pie on the house. . ." She couldn't believe sometimes that it had been nine years since they had started this "Weasley" family tradition. As the man passed in front of her, she caught him muttering under his breath.

"They look so different from the day they raided the store. My lifetime's work wrecked by a pair of wizards barely out of their Hogwarts' robes. . ."

Hannah was stunned to hear the venom in the man's tone. Apparently, he was not just a harmless drunk but he also had a dark past. He seemed to have recognized Harry and Ron from their early days as Aurors, when their chief responsibility was to raid areas of suspected dark magic. Her first instinct was to hex the old fool and toss him out of her pub faster than he could blink, but Hannah decided to first go have a word with her old friends. After all, she still needed to bring them the clinking butter beers.

Suppressing her concerns momentarily, Hannah quickly spoke with her bartender about getting the man a decent meal with nothing stronger to drink than pumpkin juice. She turned to head towards her old friends, but was forced to dodge out of the way of the massive pile of used dishes her newest employee was levitating before him towards the kitchen. While he apologized profusely for nearly hitting her, Hannah patted his shoulder and waived off the incident as nothing more than a minor occupational hazard. She complimented him on the strength of his levitation charm and then made her way over to the large family in the back of her pub, eager to be a part of their happiness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Joy surrounded the group like an old familiar cloak, and for the second time that day Harry marveled at the peace and happiness that now made up his everyday life, but most of all he loved the normalcy of an outing with his family. He found it hard to believe that this was his life, that the danger and uncertainty that had filled his youth had given way to the contentment. The memory of his school years was that of an unloved awkward adolescent who was eventually left by all of the adults he considered to be his family. He considered his role in ridding the Wizarding world of its greatest evil to be of far less of importance than the time spent with the loving family and friends that surrounded him now. All the family members were there, of course, as they had been every year since Teddy Lupin had started at Hogwarts. Harry felt amazed that the entire Weasley family came each year, even Charlie who was normally so busy in Romania, but he had to admit there was something extremely comforting in the tradition.

George was animated in his re-telling of the latest prank his oldest son had pulled on him before leaving for his fourth year at Hogwarts. Fred, who had been named for the uncle he would never know, had gotten the idea from a Muggle film he had seen with his best friend Fred Jordan. It was hardly a surprise to anyone when the two developed an intense bond as young children and with that bond a tendency to give in to their mischievous natures; it was almost as if they were reliving the "Weasley twins" greatest escapades. In their most recent escapade, the boys had taken huge amounts of bog roll and decorated the trees surrounding both of their homes. Using their brooms, they wove a lasting tapestry of tissue through the trees. Their co-conspirators were Teddy and Victorie who aided them by doing charms — to give it color and to be weather resistant for at least two weeks to keep away the persistent English rain. The result was a tissue tapestry of Fred and Fred beaming as they waved a cheeky goodbye to their parents. George beamed with pride at the tricksters' farewell gift, and was trying to develop a kit that produced similar results for the shop.

"If we do that, we're going to have to also develop a cleanup kit." Percy may have stated the words in a perfect deadpan while innocently polishing his glasses, but the words still sent the gathered adults into gales of laughter.

Chuckling, Harry watched as Lily and Hugo—the only of their cousins not yet in Hogwarts—shared a confused look across the table. The two were very close in age and as the youngest members of a very large family were very close. Harry grinned at the fact that the two were once again having one of their famous silent conversations. Such occurrences shocked people outside of the family, on the surface the two children who were the polar opposites in temperament yet always found common ground. Having helped in the raising of the twosome, the majority of their extended family would simply smile and shrug their shoulders. They had long since accepted Lily and Hugo's partnership, and were grateful that they—like all of their cousins—considered one another not only family, but friends as well.

Lily gave a nod in Hugo's direction; knowing this to be the indicator that Hugo would speak to the adults. Harry looked over at his nephew. Hugo's curly hair was a combination of Hermione's chestnut brown and Ron's vibrant red, forming a dark brown with a red hue that increased when he spent time in the sun. His eyes, however, as Mum-Weasley had marveled over thousands of times, were all Ron', a particularly vibrant shade of blue. Hugo had his mother's intelligence, yet had his father's lack of patience with those studies he considered a waste of time. He was currently bending and unbending the flexi-straw in his pumpkin juice, waiting for a lull in the conversation to speak.

"Uncle Percy, why would you want a cleanup kit for a product whose purpose it is to make a mess, however creative?" Harry was slightly taken aback—as always—by the maturity of both Hugo's tone and word choice. They were clear indicators of being raised by the brightest witch of her age.

Percy wiped away some froth on his lip with a napkin and raised an eyebrow at Hugo. "Well, for one thing it's good business."

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain why most everyone cracked up when you said it," chimed in Lily. She had inherited her mother's frankness, especially concerning matters where she felt she was being excluded because of her age.

"Right you are, Tiger-Lily. You see, when Uncle Percy and I were first partners, we had this brilliant idea. We charmed bugs to follow around a target selected by their owner and then explode. The bugs left this fantastic goo behind when they burst, damn difficult to get out of robes too. You see, we found out that interesting tidbit when. . ."

Harry's attention was pulled away from George's story by a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Hannah Longbottom offering him a butter beer, which he gladly accepted. Hannah left her hand on his shoulder, and then quietly asked if she could speak with him and Ron for a moment. Harry noted the concern in her eyes, and quickly nodded. He kicked Ron's foot under the table to get his attention, and then gestured with that they needed to follow Hannah. His long time best friend rolled his eyes and nodded before leaning over to give Hermione a quick kiss on the cheek before whispering in her ear. Hermione smiled and nodded, muttering a response to Ron as he rose from the table. Harry could only imagine what she'd found to say with such quick timing, but it caused Ron's throaty chuckle to fill the room as he rose from the table to come talk with Harry and Hannah.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt. . ." Harry held up a hand to forestall any further explanation from Hannah. The three of them had wandered over to a corner of the pub that was out of earshot from the gathered family.

"Hannah, it's fine, isn't it Ron?"

"Of course it is," Ron readily agreed. "You're really doing us a favor saving us from that old story of George's. Heard it often enough that we can recite it, eh, Harry?"

"Too right. Come on then, Hannah; tell us what's bothering you. I've not seen you so anxious since you found out you were pregnant with Abigail, what's wrong?

Harry watched as the lines around Hannah's eyes eased away as he and Ron reassured her with easy words. Taking a deep breath, she quickly explained her encounter with the shabby old man sitting at the bar and the menacing words he had muttered. Harry and Ron turned to look at the man, who was now completely engrossed with his complimentary meal.

Ron's deep voice broke the silence, "Yeah that would be old C.B."

"Who?" Hannah asked in a confused voice as her friends turned back to her.

"Caractacus Burke," answered Harry. "He was one of the owners of Borgin and Burke's down on Knockturn Alley. The store carried some really foul stuff—enough to get the Ministry's attention."

Here Ron snorted a laugh, "Yeah, after you'd been hounding them to check in on them ever since the end of the Final Battle. I think their place was our first raid as fully fledged Aurors," Ron broke in. "That's got to be close to seventeen, eighteen years gone now. Not really surprised to hear he's still moaning about it. Still, he shouldn't be anything to fret over. Right, Harry?"

Harry smiled confidently at Hannah, "He shouldn't cause too much of a problem. All the same, I'll contact headquarters about it and suggest they have someone come by in plain robes and keep an eye on him. Can't have something happen to our favorite pub and all."

Hannah's face turned rosy at the compliment as she muttered her thanks. Both Ron and Harry waved it off easily.

"Harry's right, better to get some young and on-duty Auror down here to watch just in case. While he's handling that, how about you come and have a bit of a drink with your favorite customers. Best place on Diagon Alley to get one, even if they do let this rowdy group nearly take over every first of September. Speaking of, isn't your son off for his first year as well?"

"Oh yes, Frank insisted he take the train this morning like all of the other students. Stayed with his great-gran for a week because he didn't want to just walk in with his father—thought he'd miss out on all the fun of his first train ride. After all, he's always going on about how his Da met Harry and you that day, and how After all, he's always going on about how his Da met Harry and you that day, and how you all became such good friends after that. Always after an adventure, that son of mine. He even got Alice to go along with it. Even though my logical Ravenclaw girl didn't see much sense in taking the train all the way back up to Scotland when they could have just flooed home from here this morning and meet up with everyone at the Hogsmeade Station."

Harry smiled to himself as Hannah continued to talk with Ron on the way back to the table. It was clear to anyone willing to listen that her three children were the pride of her life. Like many of their generation, the Longbottom children were named for those who had been lost during the fight against Voldemort. It had been a way of honoring those who were lost.

Harry made his way to the pub's back entrance and stepped out into the warm evening. He cast a quick patronus to send the information they had learned as well as their suggestion to have someone monitor Burke for the evening, for safety's sake. After he was finished he turned to head back inside and was swept into a bone crushing hug. A familiar voice called out "Nitch!" as Harry felt himself lifted bodily from the ground.

"Cor, Teddy! Let an old man breathe, will ya?" Harry chuckled as he hugged his godson with equal enthusiasm.

"You're not old, Nitch. Gingersnap says if I call you old that means that I'm calling her old, which is _definitely_ not allowed. I don't fancy being on the bad end of her Bat Bogey Hex again. That time after fifth year was bad enough, and all I did was point out a family resemblance!"

The memory floated back to Harry. He had returned home from work one day to find Ginny scrubbing down the kitchen—a clear indication that she was upset about something. A glance into the living room revealed fifteen year old Teddy blowing sickly green bats from his nose while his cousin James laughed uproariously on the couch.

It had taken Harry nearly ten minutes to extract the story from his son, who would lose concentration whenever Teddy released new bats with a sneeze. It turned out that the three of them had been going through stacks of old family photos when Teddy had made the unfortunate comment that Ginny looked strikingly similar to a particular witch in one of the pictures. The comment was unfortunate because it turned out that the bubbly young witch in the photo was Aunt Muriel—a woman who Ginny and her siblings associated with being old, unattractive and horrible. It had taken a pint of Ginny's favorite ice cream and the better part of a bottle of wine, but Harry had eventually been able to convince his wife that it had been an innocent comment. The story was still fodder for familial teasing at Weasley get-togethers, to the amusement of them all.

Recalling the incident, Harry could not help but chuckle as he clapped Teddy on the back. "Speaking of Ginny, she and I have been doing a bit of talking lately. Would you like to come and live with us, seeing as you are there so often?" At the shocked look that crossed Teddy's face, Harry wondered if he had made a mistake in thinking Teddy would want to move in with him and Ginny. "Obviously we know you're grown now, and you probably want to be on your own. . ."

"Are you kidding me?! This is great! Except, where are you going to put James and Albus? Not together? Because if you are then I am never coming over again, ever."

The tension of the moment gone, Harry responded with a visible shudder. "Merlin's beard, no! The details are not all worked out yet. But one thing is for certain, the boys will _never_ end up sharing a room, for their health and _my_ sanity. Come on, let's get back, we can tell Ginny and Lily the good news at the end of the night. The details will work themselves out."

Godfather and godson made their way back in to the cheerfully noisy pub, and found the back table veritably buzzing with excitement. Two large Hogwarts owls were perched on Harry's vacant chair, while Hugo and Lily and Ron were all being told by various adults that they had to wait for Harry to return to open the letters. Hermione's protests caught Harry's attention.

"You are just going to have to wait, the pair of you. And don't you dare try that puppy dog look, either of you. Honestly Ronald, I expect some of this behavior from Hugo as he is still a _child_, but not a grown man. _What_ has gotten in to the two of you tonight?"

"But 'Mione! This is _important_; we finally get to find out what House Rose is in! I mean, of course it'll be Gryffindor." Harry shook his head at his friend's comment and watched as Hermione's eyebrows knitted together dangerously.

"Ronald Weasley, are you implying that you wouldn't be happy if Rose were sorted in to any other House?"

Ever the peacemaker, Hugo chimed in, "Now don't start, Mum. Dad didn't say anything of the sort. After all, he still loves Lucy and she was sorted in _Slytherin_."

The way Hugo half-whispered the last word caused a laugh spread through the gathered adults. Lucy's sorting hadn't come as too much of a surprise, given much of her mum's side of the family were former Slytherins. As a young child, Lucy had taken a keen interest in improving the future of her father and Uncle George's store, and held lofty hopes for her own future. It was a trait Percy had encouraged, and though he had hoped for both of his twin girls to be in Gryffindor he knew that Lucy would excel in any of the houses.

Lily had caught sight of her father and Teddy heading toward the table and gave an excited squeal as she rushed over to her father to be scooped into a hug. "Finally! He's back and Teddy's with him. There's no more reason to wait now can we _please_ open them now, Mum, can we!?"

Before Ginny could respond, however, a tiny owl flew into the room at breakneck speed, his blurry wings emitting an audible hum. The exuberant creature flew to Ron and whirred around his head three times before dropping a rather large envelop in his lap. The owl then gave a self-satisfied hoot and perched itself on an empty butter beer bottle. He fixed Ron with his golden gaze, glanced down at the envelope clacking his beak impatiently. Ron gave a sigh of exasperation as he picked up the envelope and offered the owl a bit of leftover meat from his plate.

"Honestly, 'Mione, how did you ever convince me to allow Pig to breed? His offspring are even more rambunctious than he was. . ."

Hermione smiled sweetly at her husband, "Yes, exactly like his owner, isn't he?"

The resulting laughter was cut off as Ron tore open the envelope, causing a chorus of trumpets to fill the air. The envelope formed a puppet like face and bobbed along to the beat of the music. A moment later, it began to speak and Rose Weasley's voice could be heard by all at the table.

"Hello Dad, Mum, Hugo and. . . well I guess everyone else. Hold on a mo', I'll get Al to come say hi. . . AL! Leave the chess for two ticks and come say hi to everyone, this charm wasn't easy!"

A moment later Albus' distinctly quieter voice came from the envelope, " 'Lo, all. I'd love to stay and chat but I'm in the middle of quite the match, so I'll let Rosie go back to what she was doing. Oh! Lils, thanks for sneaking in the extra pouch of chocolate frogs!"

There was a sound of shuffling and Rose's voice returned to speak to them. "I do hope Piglet got this to you before you opened the other envelopes. I just figured out this great way to show . . . oh just watch, I hope you won't be disappointed. Love to you all!"

"What on earth is she on about, disappointed. . ." Hermione cut off Ron, covering his mouth with her hand as she nodded toward the envelope, which appeared to have transformed into a door. The whole of the family hurriedly gathered on one side of the table, eagerly awaiting whatever announcement was about to be made.

They didn't have long to wait, for a moment later a deep, rumbling roar filled the room. Harry mistook it for thunder initially, but then a large golden lion leaped from the now open door the envelope had created, and was followed closely by another. The table burst into various forms of cheers and applause as it became apparent that the names of the latest family members to head off to Hogwarts were attached to pennants on the lions' tails. Harry laughed as Ron swung Hugo onto his shoulders to run a victory lap around the table. After a few moments, the lions faded away and the envelope once again represented a puppet.

"Like I said, I hope you're not disappointed in the charm—I had a beastly time trying to decide how to include our names. At any rate, there's one more thing in the envelope that I thought you would all like—a picture of all the new Gryffindors! Al and I love and miss you, now go look at the picture and read your letters!" the last was said in a clearly unknown resemblance of her mother's voice.

While everyone else was chuckling and celebrating—complete with another victory lap from Ron and Hugo—Harry set Lily down in her mother's lap and went over to Hermione. He had intended to make a snarky comment about Rose knowing so much about charms already, but when he spotted the tears of laughter running down Hermione's cheeks he simply had to look at the picture Hermione held in her hand. He had originally thought her laughter to be from amusement at Rose's imitation, but as he gazed at the picture, he quickly spotted the source of her mirth. For there, sitting between Albus and Rose sat none other than Scorpious Malfoy, an arm thrown around each of his new housemates. The young blond boy had a goofy grin on his face, and to top it off Rose sat next to him in the photograph winking cheekily. The image sent Harry into a fit of laughter so strong that tears began to stream down his face. He practically fell into Ron's chair, his ribs aching as he recalled Ron's advice to his daughter that morning not to get too close to their old rival's child.

Ron had set Hugo back down and returned to Hermione's side, pausing to thump Harry on the back twice. "Steady on there, mate. Rosie's mimicry certainly isn't anything to cry over!"

Gasping for breath between laughs, Harry managed to shake his head and point to the photo Hermione was holding out for Ron to inspect. He watched as Ron stared at the photo open mouthed, as if he refused to believe what he was seeing. The color first drained from Ron's face and then returned with reinforcements. Harry performed a mental countdown as he watched Ron's lips contort.

_5. . . . _

_4. . . . _

_3. . . . _

_2. . . ._

_1. . . ._

"BLOODY SODDING HELL!!!"

Hearing his little brother's outburst, George hurried round the table to see the source of Ron's outrage. As he looked at the photograph, a devilish grin spread across his features.

"Well, just look at that? Not only did the munchkins get into Gryffindor, but it would appear they are in astounding company as well. See here, there's Frank Longbottom, I'm sure Neville's thrilled. And do my eyes deceive me? For I do believe that is none other than young _Scorpious Malfoy_ sitting ever _so_ cozily with his arm around one Rose Weasley!"

The three other Weasley brothers leaped from their seats to get a good view of the photograph. Even Percy joined in the good-natured teasing of poor Ron, which lasted for several minutes. Eventually, their wives called off the men and everyone returned to their seats, Harry squeezing Ginny's shoulder as he sat back down next to her. Percy's wife Audrey patted Ron lightly on the back, trying to offer her encouragement.

"Chin up there, Ron. Maybe you'll get lucky and they'll not get on very well."

This comment was met with a low groan from Ron, "Don't say that. If they don't get on it just means they'll argue all the time. And if they argue all the time. . ." Ron plopped down in a chair and put his head in his hands while Hermione tried to stop his worrying.

"Now Ron, just because Rose is more like you than anyone else in the family does not mean she'll fancy someone with whom she argues all the time. And isn't she a bit young for us to be worrying about that right now?"

Ginny gave a snort of laughter. "Because, you know, the two of you didn't fall for each other at the tender age of eleven or anything. . ."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her sister-in-law, "Technically, I was 12 and I don't seem to recall your brother noticing I was a girl until I was at _least_ fifteen. . ."

"OI!" Ron protested, "I had noticed you were a girl before then, I can't help it if I was a bit of arse. Besides, I recall we were too busy fighting for our lives to have any kind of real romance at Hogwarts." He glared at Harry, who's mouth was open with a comment, "And that whole mess with Lavender did NOT count, end of discussion. Besides, 'Mione, I do believe I more than made up for it later." Ron moved in to kiss his wife gently while his fingers played with her diamond and sapphire engagement ring.

Harry bit back his laughter as Lily and Hugo made exaggerated gagging noises at the display of parental 'mush.' "They are pretty disgusting, aren't they?"

His daughter and nephew nodded vehemently while Hermione broke the kiss to look at Harry with an arched eyebrow. "I really don't think you are in any position to take the mickey out of anyone for romantic inclinations, are you now Pygmy Puff?"

Harry stuck his tongue out at this long time best friend and pulled Ginny closer to him. He gently placed a kiss on the top of her head and felt her shift her weight restlessly in her chair. Placing his hand under her chin, Harry tilted her face up towards him and caught the worry in her hazel eyes.

"What's wrong, love?" Harry asked with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

"I am not really sure. I've just got a bit of a bad feeling, as if we're being watched or something."

"Love, we're watched everywhere we go. Hard not to be with this crowd. Now if your articles weren't as stellar as you insist upon making them. . ."

Ginny lightly smacked Harry on the shoulder before cuddling into his chest. "Not like that! It's probably nothing, but I just feel . . . disconcerted would be the word, I suppose. What did Hannah want, then?"

Harry squeezed her shoulder comfortingly, and told her briefly about what Hannah had discussed with he and Ron, making sure to emphasize that he had already informed the Ministry and that someone was surely there by now watching out for them.

"I suppose Burke was what was bothering me then. Maybe I am feeling a bit out of place now that Al's at school too, before long Lily will be gone as well and then what will we do?" Harry couldn't take seeing the sadness etched in his wife's eyes so he leaned in and whispered a few choice ideas into her ear.

"Harry James Potter!" She hissed, her face nearly matching her hair color as she pulled him in closer to her, "If you don't make good on that I swear you will pay for it." The last bit sultrily whispered in his ear, Ginny proceeded to kiss him with the passion that had always been present in their marriage. As he enjoyed the snog, Harry felt two thoughts whizzing through his brain: first he paused to think at how lucky he really was in life. Friends who were constant and true, a family he adored and the love of his life still as mad for him as he was for her, it was pure bliss. Second: he decided he'd ask Ron if Lily could come have a sleepover at Hugo's so he could ensure the continued devotion of his loving wife—truly, all was well.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Watching the gathering at the back of the pub, I could feel my emotions as the violent, tearing things they were.

At the head of the charge was an almost indescribable amount of rage. How could they appear so perfectly happy with themselves? What gave them the right to feel as if they were on top of the world when their actions had cost so many so much?

Especially Him. He was the worst of them all; filling me with such hatred that even the thought of His name caused bile to rise in the back of my throat. How dare He sit there comfortably surrounded by a loving family while I have been forced into obscurity by His actions? Did He have no humility that He should brazenly appear in public as if he were nothing other than a complete and total failure?

Next came a wave of jealousy embarrassing in its intensity. As much as I hated the display before me, I could not help but wish I were a part of it, even were it in some small way. There is something about His obvious closeness to the imbeciles that surrounded Him that made me wish there was a place for me. This jealousy lasted for but a moment before being replaced by shame at my own weakness.

How can it even matter to me after all of this time? The entire time I have been here, He has caught my eye twice, and the second time I even received a polite smile and nod of the head. After the momentary elation over even this miniscule form of acknowledgement, shame bubbled up inside of me like a noxious potion left over a flame for far too long. I could feel it course through my veins—hot, thick and laden with the knowledge that if I continued to let myself feel this way, there would be no way my plan could succeed. Even the most meticulously organized plot—which, naturally, is what I have concocted—can be destroyed by the ebb and flow of these heady emotions within me.

Fortunately, I was able rise above my own emotions for long enough to hear the plans of the group.

"Aunt Ginny, aren't you covering the Canons' match tomorrow?"

"That I am, which means it's time for us to head on home, come on then Lils, we'll go pack your bag and you can Floo over to Hugo's in a bit."

The protests of the other family members became mere background noise as one final emotion flooded through me: anticipation. Because with that bit of information, I now know that my plan can go forward, and the Man who Failed can finally be made to pay in full.

_Hey there out in world. This is a new story that I am working on that is substantially darker from my old work. I haven't really decided if it's worth carrying on past this, so I thought I would let you guys be the judge? What do you think? Glomps Hugs and Pygmy Puffs, UD_


	2. Chapter 2

"Ginny, love, come on dear you have to wake up and get ready for the match."

Ginny met Harry's gentle pleas by burying her head underneath her pillow and mumbling veiled threats under her breath. She heard her husband sigh and cast the levitation charm, so held onto her pillow for dear life, groaning loudly when Harry levitated her blanket off the bed. Without bothering to look behind her, Ginny pointed her hand in the direction of his voice and expressed her feelings in a two fingered salute. She heard Harry scoff, as he walked away from her side of the bed and out of the room. Thinking she had won the fight, Ginny smirked into her pillow and tried to will herself back to sleep.

Not five minutes later she heard Harry's voice as if he were speaking from a great distance. "For the record, you brought this on yourself. _Aguamenti!_"

Screeching at an almost deafening volume, Ginny Potter leapt from bed, her night clothes stuck to her by the icy water her husband had used to rouse her from slumber. Whirling on him, she narrowed her eyes at his smirking face.

"HARRY JAMES POTTER! I am going to. . . UGH!" Wiping the water from her eyes, Ginny grasped at her bedside table for her wand, only to find it missing. Her eyes turned to the table and became as big as saucers at what they found.

"You took my WAND?! You had better have a damned good reason for getting me up. . ." In the midst of her rant Ginny caught a glimpse at the clock. "Have you gone mental? My alarm wasn't set to go off for three more hours!"

Feeling her temper reaching its boiling point, Ginny whirled back to fire off a few more choice words at her husband. However, she was caught off guard by the wicked way Harry was grinning at her. With that roguish grin and his hair still tousled from sleep, she found herself momentarily distracted.

That moment was all that Harry needed. Before Ginny could get a word of protest out of her mouth, Harry had crossed the room and pulled her into a deep kiss. She half-heartedly tried to fight him off, slapping her hands against her chest but then he was caressing her neck and bending her back towards the bed with easy grace. A mewling noise escaped her throat as she tangled her fingers in his hair, rising up from the bed enough to get as much contact with his body as possible. A few moments later she made a noise of disappointment as Harry pulled back from the kiss enough to whisper in her ear.

"Have I ever told you how bloody gorgeous you are when you're angry?"

His gravelly, rumbling tone of voice caused her to gasp as things low in her body tightened. Ginny knew very well of the things that tone promised, but she knew he'd never let her forget it if she gave in so quickly.

"And what, pray tell, does that have to do with shooting ice water all over me?"

"Well," Harry growled, "you're the one who insisted on wearing nothing but your knickers and that old white t-shirt of mine to bed last night. It gave me the best ideas . . ." he left off talking to start nibbling the spot where her neck met her shoulder.

Ginny felt another moan escaped her throat as Harry's tongue licked a hot, wet line at what he knew was the most sensitive part of her neck. Trying to force herself to concentrate, she conjured up thoughts of the summer spent helping Aunt Muriel do her laundry, including her giant knickers. Even so, she only barely managed to choke out "It's not like, oooh Merlin that feels good, like I had much time put anything else—oh!—on. As I recall you were rather single minded last night."

Harry's hand started to slide under her wet shirt, dancing his fingers delicately up her ribcage before softly brushing the underside of her left breast. "With the boys at school, Lily at Ron and Hermione's, and the house all to ourselves' for the first time in 13 years can you honestly blame me?"

Ginny gasped at the heat of his hand against her cool skin, straining against him and loving every tortuous minute of it. Her hands clawed at Harry's shirt, trying to pull it up and off of him as quickly as possible. She leaned down and licked the outer shell of his ear and couldn't resist asking cheekily, "Didn't you get enough last night?"

But Harry was having none of it. With fast reflexes that told of his days as a Seeker, he pinned her arms to her side and kissed her soundly. "Now then, what on Earth ever made you think that I had any intention other than to shag you rotten? Did I get enough last night? The truth is, Gin, I barely got started."

With her arms pinned at her side, Ginny could do nothing but moan and twitch as Harry began his favorite form of foreplay—driving her mad with barely there kisses all over her body. The faint tickles all over her body were driving Ginny mad, and she began to struggle more in an attempt to get her hands on Harry in an attempt to reciprocate. She was maddened even further when Harry gently guided her arms up over her head and flicked his tongue over her earlobe.

"Oh my, does someone want to play?" Harry moved one of his hands to brush Ginny's wet hair off her neck—it was all the opening Ginny needed. With the muscle and skill retained during her days as a Chaser for the Harpies, Ginny managed to worm her way out from underneath her husband and then turn the tables on him. Now straddling Harry's stomach with her hands pinning him at the shoulders, Ginny grinned down at her husband.

"I do want to play. You know, I never thought I'd like a game as much as I like Quidditch. But you, Harry Potter, I could play with all day long."

Ginny leaned down and began to passionately kiss her husband, scratching her fingers down his arms. After a few moments, she sat back up and slowly pulled the soaking t-shirt off her body. She couldn't help but smirk when Harry's eyes glazed over at the sight of her breasts. Even after three children and nineteen years he still stared at them like a horny teenager. Using the distraction to her benefit, she reached around and found Harry's wand in the pocket of his trousers. With a quick movement, she banished Harry's clothes and then tossed his wand onto the floor. Giving an excited purr, she ran her fingers from Harry's collar bones down along his torso. Shifting her hips slightly, she began to grind herself against the length of his erection.

"Oh Merlin, Gin, you're so wet. Can feel you through your knickers . . ."

Laughing low in her throat, Ginny responded "Your fault on both counts, Mr. Potter. Now, why don't you do something about it." Throwing her leg into the air, she rolled off of Harry. She was not disappointed to find that he immediately rolled to face her. Smirking, he glided down the length of her body and began removing her knickers with his teeth—pausing to occasionally lick or suck a tantalizing bit of skin. When he slid back up to kiss her, Ginny pulled him on top of her and wrapped her legs around him. They remained locked together for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of skin against skin, their tongues battling for dominance.

It wasn't long before Harry angled himself above her, bracing himself on his forearms. With practiced ease, he positioned himself just outside her entrance. He rubbed himself along her edges for a moment, making her cry out in her need. Bending to kiss her almost chastely, Harry whispered the words he always said before making love to her.

"Love you, Ginny, love you always." With that, he slid into her warm center, and Ginny was lost in the throes of passion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hours later, Ginny lay completely sated on the bed. It always surprised her how physically intense their relationship remained. She had thought that by this point in their lives, the sex would have slowed down a little. After all, she heard frequent laments from other witches at work that their sex-lives had almost died out after years with their husbands. Nervous one night, Ginny confided her fears in Harry. His response had been very similar to what had just occurred. Merlin, she loved that man.

Feeling more inclined to cuddle into Harry's chest than anything else just now, she spoke "Here then, give me my wand and I'll clean myself off. I am in serious need of some Pygmy Puff time."

When Harry, didn't immediately comply, Ginny turned to complain. Instead, she found Harry's bottle green eyes staring down into her own. "What, something on my face?" She squirmed uncomfortably under the weight of Harry's gaze, and was relieved when he caressed her cheek with his hand and began to speak.

"Ginny, about what you asked earlier, about not getting enough. The truth is I could spend every hour of every day being with you and it would never be enough. And I don't mean just sex either, so don't even go there. You are my world you are what made every moment of fear and agony worth it during the war. I can never make you understand how much it broke my heart to leave you during the battle without saying goodbye all those years ago."

He paused while his thumb brushed the tears she hadn't realized she was crying off her cheek, "I made myself a promise after it was all over, Gin. After that night, I was going to treasure every single moment I had with you." The two shared a heartfelt glance in which their passion was temporarily superseded by the intense love they felt for one another. Ginny basked in the contentment that spread through her at their easy way with one another. They kissed gently, slowly, and Ginny wanted to do nothing more than stay there in bed for the rest of the day.

And she probably would have if Luna Scamander's dreamy voice hadn't begun to drift into her room.

"Ginny? Ginny, love, where are you? I just got a note that Finch-Fletchey is that the pitch and you're not. If you don't hurry you'll miss the pre-game press conference!"

Groaning, Ginny rose from her bed and raced to the shower, telling a laughing Harry that he could go explain to Luna precisely why she was going to be late to the game.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My first target is late. I am in a near state of panic because of this—if she doesn't show then everything be thrown off balance. In order to get the proper revenge on Him, everything has to be timed perfectly. I know that I could always attack her elsewhere if necessary, but it wouldn't have the same . . . power if I did not do it today. The location of the attack is just as important as the victim, and I had waited so long for this opportunity to arise. A whole year's worth of planning was swiftly going to waste, and all because the stupid bitch hasn't bothered to show.

But wait! The doors to the press conference are opening. . . and yes, there's her stupid fucking ginger head. At least she's having the grace to look embarrassed at being late, though that may be because her arrival has caused everyone to stop paying attention to the coach and direct their cameras at her. She continues to flush all the way to her seat. I must not let myself lose my concentration, now that she is here the plan must continue, and it all depends on my keeping my cool. Once the excitement dies down, I make my way out of the room, and hang out just outside the exit she is most likely to use. Now, it is only a matter of waiting. The press conference will be over soon, and in her haste to avoid further embarrassment she'll probably be one of the first to leave. I will have my chance to corner her, and then He will have to deal with the repercussions and the knowledge that she died because of Him.

I have not been waiting long when the door opens. As I thought, she is the first to leave—I have studied her habits well and knew I would have a few precious moments alone with her before everyone else was collected enough to leave the room. Adopting the persona of an adoring fan, I run up to her clutching a pen and autograph book.

"Excuse me, but I am just your biggest fan—have been ever since you were at Holyhead. Would you, would you sign this for me?" I am not disappointed as she reaches for the pen, glad to be doing something positive after the embarrassment of her late arrival. Distracted, she's looking down at the notebook and asking me for my name, not knowing it is the last thing she shall ever utter.

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!" _Blood begins to fountain from the long slash across her throat, and I take a moment to enjoy its warmth. Gurgling, she collapses to the floor, one hand reached up in desperation. I take only the time that is needed to secure an envelope in her outstretched hand before turning to Disapparate.

I have done my homework. I know He is not on duty today and when they find her lying there on the floor, her red hair soaked in blood and hazel eyes glazed over in the mists of death, they will have to call Him in. Not only will He know that it is His fault she died, but He will also forever be haunted by taking even a day's peace for himself.

Entering my hideaway, I find myself beaming. I do so love it when a good plan comes together, and this is only the beginning.


	3. Chapter 3

Adrenaline pumped through Harry's system as he paced outside of Kingsley's office. Today was supposed to have been his bloody day off, but then he'd got a Ministry owl telling him to get to Kingsley's office with all due haste. No mention of what the big rush was—Harry remembered feeling irritated at the inconvenience. That was, until he'd actually gotten to the Ministry. There was an air of panic the likes of which he hadn't felt in many years. The sensation grew even worse when Harry caught snatches of rushed conversations as he passed the Aurors' offices.

". . . at the Canon's game. Right after the press conference."

"Eyes wide open, her throat was slashed. . ."

"No, Pansy, you transcribed this wrong. The victim's hair wasn't red because of the blood. The report says her red hair was covered in blood. The handwriting's all smeared."

Harry turned on his heel and prepared to barge in the office, demanding to know what everyone was talking about and why it sounded like it had to do with his wife. It was at that critical moment that Harry's secretary, Martha, came and steered him away. Try as he might to break away from her, the elderly witch had a firm grip on Harry's forearm, and was dragging him towards Kingsley Shacklebolt's office.

"Now then, Mr. Potter, you come with me and talk to the Minister. If he'd wanted you to hear all of that he'd have had you come to your office, not his. Don't you suppose that he might have something important to say on the subject?"

"Martha, dammit, I'm not some child. I want to know what's going on. Kingsley's preferences be damned! This is about my FAMILY." Further tirade was stalled by Martha literally reaching up and grabbing the front of Harry's robes, pulling him down to her level.

"Now listen here, young man. The Minister probably has a perfectly logical reason for wanting to see you first. If you storm into that Aurors office ready to explode, it is going to cause everyone to feel even more panicky about something NO ONE understands yet. So please, do act your age and go see what it is the Minister of bloody Magic wants to talk with you about."

Properly chastened, Harry had gone to wait outside Kingsley's door without another word. He'd been standing here for the past five minutes, alternatively pacing and contemplating blowing the door open and making Kingsley talk to him. He was so lost in his own world of worry that he hardly noticed when Ron came padding up to him, rubbing at his ear.

"Hey mate, I take it Kingsley made you come to his office too?"

Making an affirmative grunt, Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend, "What's with the ear? Fall out of the Apparation circle?"

He saw Ron roll his eyes, but the tips of his ears still turned red. "No, I, uh, I tried to go straight to my office once I heard everyone blathering in there. Martha stopped me though, and when I tried to push her out of the way, she got me good. I haven't been pulled by my ear since I last rowed with Mum."

Harry couldn't resist a smile, "So last week, then?"

Before Ron could make a snappy retort, the door to Kingsley's office swung open. Harry whirled, prepared to give the Minister a piece of his mind when he noticed the two people coming out of this office. A sobbing woman was leaning heavily on a man whose face was slate-grey with silent tears running down his face. They were a perfect picture of grief.

As they walked by Harry, the man looked at him and said in a chilling voice, "You find who did this. You make it right. It's your job. You owe it to us." Before Harry could reply, however, he felt Kingsley's heavy hand on his shoulder. Harry glanced at the man, who merely nodded to his office before gently guiding them into his office.

He heard Kingsley call over his shoulder, "Please, be patient Mr. and Mrs. Moore. All efforts will be put into this case; Potter and Weasley are our very best Aurors. We'll be in touch."

Harry's mind was racing with a thousand questions as Kingsley shut the door behind the three of them. The Minister walked around to his desk, sinking into his chair with a sigh. As both Harry and Ron started to demand an explanation, Kingsley raised a hand, forestalling their questions.

"In the first place, thank you both for coming so quickly. I am sorry that I didn't give you more information about why I needed you here, but there was little to give. Everything's been happening so fast. I'm sure you both heard things when going by the Aurors office. To get some of your base concerns out of the way, let me just talk for a few minutes and then we can get into further details."

"First of all, no, it was not Ginny who was attacked as you probably gathered from Mr. Moore's comment. However, the attack took place immediately after the press conference at the Canons' game this morning. The victim was one Gillian Moore, also known as Keeper for the Canons after being traded over from the Harpies last year. It appears that the Sectumsempra curse was used on her, though rather inexpertly—we've tried to magically seal the wound for the sake of the family and so far we've made little progress. The laceration is ragged, as if someone didn't know the curse perfectly, so it lacks the smooth cut usually found in its usage. Oddly enough, her appearance is strikingly similar to Ginny's. . ."

The stress of the morning was proving too much for Harry, who finally had to interrupt Kingsley in an explosion of frustration. "Wait a minute, Kingsley, this doesn't make any sense. This sounds like a relatively routine homicide—aside from it being similar to Ginny's appearance. Why on earth are we talking to you about it? I mean, shouldn't all of this be handled by our offices, why is the Minister of bloody Magic involved?"

Kingsley took Harry's outburst in stride, and began to calmly speak once more. "Because, Potter, of several factors. For one, we cannot eliminate that Ms. Moore was killed by mistake; though she was found with an autograph book and a pen near her person it is entirely plausible the killer was targeting your wife instead. Additionally, we have a piece of evidence found magically secured to her hand that we're fairly positive is addressed to you, given its label."

Here, Kingsley tapped at an envelope that Harry had yet to notice on his desk. Jagged, messy handwriting addressed simply to "The Man who Failed." Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair.

"That could be for anyone, not just me."

Ron looked over at him, "Come on then, Harry, don't be daft. That title sounds pretty similar to what everyone was calling you after Voldemort killed your parents. From 'The Boy who Lived' to 'The Man who Failed.' Seems to be a bit of an evolution of sorts, now doesn't it? Involving some sort of personal vendetta—of course it's for you, mate." Harry glared at his long time best friend, hating his cleverness in that moment. Harry found himself desperately seeking a way that he could disconnect himself from the violence displayed in this attack. If the letter were addressed to him, it made the murder of the young witch his fault somehow, and he wasn't quite sure how he could cope with that. While trying to avoid that particular train of thought, Harry decided to continue with his display of attitude.

"And besides, Kings, I hardly think you should have waited for my arrival to open such a crucial piece of evidence."

Kingsley sighed heavily before looking Harry directly in the eye, "We've tried everything we could think of to get it open, Harry. I've only let three people scan the envelope because I am sure you don't want its existence revealed to the Daily Prophet just yet. Each of them has told me the same thing—the letter contains to piece of dark magic, but a simple charm to keep anyone but the intended recipient from opening it."

Trepidation filled Harry as Kingsley reached over the desk, trying to hand the bloody envelope to him. Seeking any excuse to avoid touching the damn thing, he called out another desperate question. "Then why call Ron in too? If all you need me to do is open the envelope why call Ron in?"

Kingsley didn't budge an inch, "Well, for one, I brought him in so you'd have some moral support. I didn't think you'd be much pleased to learn about my suspicions pertaining to the envelope. And for another, obviously, I want you and Weasley on the case. But in order for us to even get started, you're going to have to open the envelope."

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, desperately longing for the treasured moments of peace and tranquility he had felt last night. He knew—though he wasn't sure how—that the instant his hands touched the envelope, his world would be plunged into a state of chaos once more. Once again, people would be dying because of him, and the guilt of all the deaths from years past lingered in the back of his mind ready to pounce. It took him a few moments to compose himself, but eventually he summoned enough Gryffindor courage to hold out his hand, mentally chiding himself for his weakness. He was the head of the Aurors' Office, for Merlin's sake, he could deal with a piece of paper.

But when he finally had the damn thing in his hand, nothing happened. He tried everything he could think of, from simply tearing at like a Muggle to using some of the most complex opening charms he knew. Nothing worked.

While there was a part of Harry that was mortified that the envelope refused to open, another part was singing. It seemed as if the envelope had not been intended for him after all. He struggled to keep the relief off his face and from his voice as he let the envelope fall the floor beside his chair. "Well, we're going to have to figure out who the Man who Failed is, because it doesn't appear to be me. Maybe we could get some of Gringotts' curse breakers to check it out. . ."

Harry never finished that sentence, because a sickly green light had filled the room. Startled, he looked round to find Ron holding a glowing piece of parchment, an expression of utter confusion on his face. There was no time for discussion, however, as a deep, menacing, mechanical voice filled the room.

"Greetings to one Ronald Weasley, the Man who Failed. We have much to discuss."

_A/N: Dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnnn. Thank you to all of you readers out there, and an extra special thank you to kareem33 for the reviews and pointing out that I got Scrimegour and Scamander confused. I do that far too often. At any rate, I hope you all enjoyed this particular reveal in the story and rest assured, the next chapter will be coming very soon!_

_Glomps Hugs and Pygmy Puffs,_

_UD_


	4. Chapter 4

As the mechanical voice addressed him Ron's Auror-training started to kick in. He felt himself divorce part of his mind from the proceedings as the charmed letter continued to detail further instructions in its cold voice.

"_Greetings to one Ronald Weasley, the Man who Failed. We have much to discuss. No doubt you thought this envelope intended for the famous Harry Potter, and that you would once again be able to participate in the coming events as something of a sidekick. Such is the sad story of your life."_

The part of Ron that was an Auror performed a quick recording charm, followed by a charm intended to copy the handwriting on the note so it could be examined later should there be a curse to cause the letter to burn once it had delivered its message. Inside, however he felt an ever increasing amount of panic. He had been thinking something along those very lines, knowing that he and Hermione would need to be there for Harry as this case unfolded. Now instead of preparing a speech for Harry to reassure him that the actions of this psychopath were not his fault, all he could do was wonder what he had done to become a target.

"_But it was never Harry Potter that it was important to me. It was you, you and your many failures. You must be made to pay for each of them, and I shall be the one to do it. And so we start with the death of this young woman. She represents your failure to go after your childhood dreams, Ronald Weasley. SHE set her mind to becoming a member of the Chudley Canons, and so she achieved it. The farthest you took this dream was into your school days, and even then you managed that only because you were best friends with the captain. You gave up on something that once meant the world to you, and now you have to suffer the consequences for your lack of commitment. Make no mistake, it is your fault she is dead, and there will be others. Think about the actions that caused Ms. Moore's death and prepare yourself. You will hear from me again. Soon."_

As he'd suspected, the letter begin to crumble in on itself, burning at the edges. Ron quickly dropped the offending parchment on Kingsley's desk. While it smoldered, Ron found himself wishing that the menace in the words could be erased so easily. He knew it was a false hope, but he couldn't stop it. Staring at the remnants of the letter, Ron took a deep breath and allowed himself to analyze the situation like any other case. After all, he wasn't the head of strategy at the Aurors' office for nothing.

"Well, first things first, we're going to need to put stronger wards up around the Burrow, Grimmauld Place and the Cottage—as well as all of my brothers' homes. I'm thinking something along the ones Hermione developed after that rash of vampires a few years back—we can modify them so that only family members can enter unless invited in. We'll also need to put added patrols over by George and Percy's. We need to let McGonagall know so that we can get extra security at Hogwarts for the kids. And while we're at it. . ." Ron snapped out of planning a moment to notice Harry and Kingsley staring at him. "What? Don't you think we . . ."

"I think all of your ideas are brilliant, Ron, but you don't have to do this, we can get someone else to handle all of the arrangements." Kingsley charmed the remaining ashes into a jar. He calmly labeled it as evidence and set it to the side.

"He's right, mate, this is awful damn personal, why don't you go home and . . ."

Ron felt his temper rising, "Go home and do what, exactly? Pretend that all of this isn't happening? Play with Hugo as if everything is fine? Tell Hermione that some crazy KILLED someone because of me for some reason, but that instead of being here and doing my _job_ I got sent home because you were worried it was too personal? Or maybe you just want to be the bloody hero again—taking care of poor pitiful Ron who can't handle his own issues?" Trembling with frustration, Ron glared at his longtime best friend.

"Oh piss off, Ron! no one's trying to shove you off the case you arse. Forgive me for thinking that maybe you needed a bit of time to process all of this before you got involved with the technicalities of the case! And sod off about the hero bit!"

"That is quite enough out of both of you. Now either stop glaring at one another like raging hippogriffs or I'll take you both off the case and force you to take leave for the next month! Honestly, you two are acting like a pair of moody teenagers. Enough!" Kingsley slapped the flat of his palm down on his desk, and the resulting noise cause Harry and Ron to break their staring contest long enough to look at the Minister.

Ron had to bring up a hand to his face to hide the smirk he could not suppress. The look on Kingsley's face reminded him of how his father had looked every time he'd got the twins rowing with Percy. Ron shot a quick look over at Harry before jerking his head in Kingsley's direction. Harry raised an eyebrow, before glancing over to Kingsley. Harry had never been one to suppress laughter after the war, and at the look on Kingsley's face he completely lost it.

Ron and Harry were so busy laughing and pointing at Kingsley that they failed to notice the brief picture of relief that crossed over his features. The Minister was thanking his lucky stars that Arthur had been right, the fastest way to get his top Aurors to stop fighting was to break the tension through humor. He quickly schooled his features to one of exasperation and cleared his throat rather loudly.

"If you two are quite finished, could we please get on with deciding just what we're going to do in this situation?" Kingsley had to keep himself from laughing as he watched his top two Aurors squirm like guilty children.

Ron was the first to recover from Kingsley's chastening. He brushed an imaginary bit of lint off his robes while trying to decide what to say next. He knew Harry wasn't implying he couldn't do the job, but damn if he didn't feel like his friend was trying to take on the case for him.

Taking a deep breath and pushing his hand through his hair, Ron started again, "Look sorry for snapping at you, Harry, but I'm bloody well staying and helping, at least until we get the ball rolling on the investigation. If I don't do at least that, I'll drive Hermione spare tonight. I can't let you take the lead on this one mate, not this time."

Harry leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. For a minute or so he looked as if he was going to say something, but in the end he simply nodded at his best mate. Kingsley observed the two long time friends, marveling at how quickly they went from on the verge of killing one another to quick and easy agreement. At least now they could get down to work.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Half an hour later Ron found himself walking slowly down Diagon Alley toward his brothers' shop, having been kicked out of the Ministry by Harry once he'd outlined how he wanted the precautions to proceed—bloody wanker. He hadn't even bothered with a charm to keep the slow drizzle off of him. His hair was covered in raindrops, and he found himself cursing under his breath the fact that he hadn't tied it back before leaving .He could almost hear his mother's voice in his head.

"_Well, dear, if you'd just let me CUT it this wouldn't be a problem."_

The thought of the familiar nagging forced a grin to his features. Ever since the sodding letter had been opened this morning Ron had been practically paralyzed with a mix of heady emotions, most particularly terror for his family and guilt that his actions were in some way the cause of it. It felt good to have a reason to smile.

The relief was only momentary. His thoughts drifting back to the day's events, Ron scowled. All he wanted at the moment was to go home, sit in his favorite chair and drink enough Firewhiskey to erase the god-awful day, but he was no fool. He knew if he went home like this Hermione would have him found out in five minutes. Then she'd want to _talk_ about it, reassure him that it wasn't his fault and all of that. This meant that he'd get upset with her for trying to make him feel better about this whole bloody mess when it was clearly his fault. Then they'd row for a good hour or so before Hugo stepped in like he always did, and then he'd have to deal with the guilt that always came when his son had to serve as peacemaker between mother and father. And THAT guilt would be on top of his already foul mood, which meant he'd not sleep for a week.

All of that simply would not do. He could not go home until the matter was clearer in his own head, until he'd had more time to come to grips with the idea himself. He had several hours until Hermione would be back at the house after retrieving Hugo from the Burrow. He'd contacted his mum to let her know about the Aurors that would be by to increase the wards on her home, and planned to be back at his home before the group was finished strengthening his own wards at the Cottage.

But first, he had volunteered to inform George and Percy about the upcoming security changes around their shops. The unpleasant task did have an added benefit though—he'd have the ability to talk about the entire mess before seeing Hermione. Hell, he was even _hoping_ that Perce and George would take the piss out on him for worrying so much.

Opening the door to the joke shop, Ron was hit with a wave of warmth and the smell of . . . was that Mum's trifle? Shaking the droplets of rain off his face, Ron took a moment to look around the shop. It was then he spotted the trifle floating near the doors to George and Percy's office. As soon as he focused on it, the door opened and the dessert drifted inside.

"If I were you, Ronniekins, I'd get in there before George inhales the entire thing. It's not like Victoire is here to slow him down any."

Ron looked up at the portrait of Fred, grinning ruefully. "You know, I'm damn near 40 years old now, think you can stop with the Ronniekins bit yet?"

Here is long dead brother got a mischievous twinkle in his eye, "Oh, I do indeed know how old you are. You, my dear baby brother are 37 years old. Whereas I, as a portrait, get to forever maintain my youthful exuberance at the perfect age of 20. And this whole not aging thing is bloody brilliant, particularly at the age I had this done. At the peak of my game, if you know what I mean. I do so love the ability to wander into other portraits, I just wish Perce the Prat would let George put up some racier witch portraits around the shop. . ." Here Fred broke off speaking and began to demonstrate what he'd like to do to said witches, which was quite the disturbing sight given he was in his magenta Weasley Wheezes robe.

"Merlin, Fred! Do we have to go over this every time I come to the shop?! Once again, I don't need to know about your forays into the land of painted sex! That's just, that's just not on!"

Fred rolled his eyes, "You are such a bloody prude, Ronniekins. Which makes no sense given what I've been told about you and that wife of yours. George tells me you came to Christmas dinner with your hair mussed after a trip up to your old room. Never pegged her to be so. . .adventurous."

"Fred Weasley, if you do not shut up about my wife I swear I will get Mum to put Aunt Muriel's portrait next to yours at the Burrow. The two of you can just enjoy each other's company for the next fifty years!"

Fred's painted face went a particular shade of puce, "Right then, I guess you should head into the office. I'm coming too. No more cracks about Hermione though, I swear."

Ron snorted, "Right, you say that every time."

Fred, "Yeah, but the threat of having to listen to Aunt Muriel natter on for any period of time is enough to make me behave," his face color was returning to normal, "that is, at least for few months."

Laughing at how incorrigible his brother's portrait remained after all these years, Ron made his way back to George and Percy's office. He shut the door gently behind him, and quickly caught the spoon George threw at him.

"Mum already filled us in on the basics. Seems you've got quite the problem on your hands. Don't worry about the extra security causing any problems—we'll deal with that at the store. I'm sure there's a way we can turn it to our advantage." George plopped himself down in the overstuffed chair he kept at his desk before taking a pull on a butterbeer.

"Shouldn't be too difficult," continued Percy from his desk. It was about as far from George's desk as it could get in terms of style—where George favored comfort and heavy furniture, Percy's desk had clean lines and a very practical chair that looked about as comfortable as the back of a blast-ended skrewt. "We can say our products are so dangerously funny that we've been put under observation."

"Perce," came Fred's voice from his portrait, "that is the _weakest_ bit of advertising you have EVER come up with, and that includes the whole "Squeaky Clean" bath toys you wanted to market. Honestly, could you try and keep quality high in the store?"

"Much as I love watching the three of you bicker with one another, could you all do me the favor of shutting up? I came over cause I needed to talk. . ." Ron was cut off by George.

"We figured. Why do you think I had Mum send over the trifle? I mean, besides the fact that is the most delicious dessert ever created? Now get your damn spoon, sit down and talk it out with us."

Over the next hour, Ron and his brothers talked over what little Ron knew of the case. As Ron had hoped, the conversation helped him wrap his mind around the realities he was facing. Now, instead of feeling as if he were at fault for everything that was going on, he began to see things clearly. What had happened couldn't be attributed as a fault of his, given that the killer clearly showed signs of mental imbalance. George had gone to great pains to point out that fact when Ron had gotten to obsessive in trying to blame himself.

"Ron, if you go round trying to take responsibility for the actions of all the crazies in the world, you'd go round the twist yourself. The fact of the matter is, whoever this nutter is, they've justified all of it in their own minds. So don't go taking credit for it, all right?"

Once the trifle was gone (after plenty of teasing Fred's portrait with how wondrous it tasted) Ron's brain felt entirely refreshed, and he had a quick illumination of an idea. He knew he had to get home soon, but before heading out to Apparate back to the Cottage, he asked Percy if he could make use of his owl. Grabbing some spare parchment, he scrawled a quick note to Harry.

_H,_

_Do me a favor and check on Scabior's whereabouts at the time of the murder. And don't you dare tell me I'm chasing after the impossible—he fits the profile._

_R_

Bidding goodbye to his brothers, Ron made his way back to the front of the store. His pockets stuffed with sweets and toys for Hugo, Ron focused his thoughts on the home he and Hermione had made together. With a final deep breath, he turned on the spot and disappeared, anxious for what he would find.


	5. Chapter 5

Ron grimaced to see his home surrounded by the highly trained squad of Aurors. Never had he imagined he would see the familiar process of casting cautionary spells on his own home. For years the Cottage had served as an undisturbed haven—a safe, sane spot that was a refuge from all the madness he dealt with as one of the Ministry's top Aurors. Here he had felt invincible, the idyllic landscape lending to the feeling that no evil would ever violate the refuge he had made for his family.

Those feelings were all in the past, however. Now his refuge was being covered in wards that hadn't been used since Voldemort had fallen. And those same wards were being put in place by witches and wizards who barely remembered the terrifying years of the late 1990s. It all made Ron feel very old—especially after Fred's teasing that afternoon. Sighing, he began to make his way toward the senior Auror present—one Terry Boot.

After leaving Hogwarts, Terry had pursued a career as an Auror, saying that the time he'd spent in Dumbledore's Army had made it impossible to take on any other career. Ron had always privately suspected the fact that Aurors were desperately needed in the days after Voldemort's fall to chase down the remaining Death Eaters had contributed to Boot's decision. Everyone had known Boot was in need of a steady job, since him and his girlfriend Penelope Clearwater had hurriedly gotten married in the days after the war. The birth of their daughter Fiona almost exactly nine months after the wedding had been all the proof Ron needed.

"Auror Weasley, sir. Glad to see you, wish it were under better circumstances. Suppose you want a list of what we've done so far?" Ordinarily, Ron found Boot's abrupt pattern of speech infuriating—it was as if the former Ravenclaw did not believe that others could understand his great intellect so he spoke as tersely as possible. In truth, it reminded him of how Percy had spoken down to him while they were both at Hogwarts. However, today he appreciated the businesslike approach to the situation.

"No need, I recognize most of them. They ought to be familiar after how many times I cast them while camping during that damn Horcrux hunt. Anything new on there?"

Boot nodded, "Potter managed to get one of the Padma Patil down in spell development to do those modifications you asked for on the anti-vampire wards, so those are up and waiting for you to activate them."

Ron snorted a laugh, "Come on then, Boot, you know you want to call them anti-Cullen wards." Seeing Boot shudder at the name, Ron laughed aloud, "I take it Meggie and Fiona are still upset there's no such thing as sparkly vampires waiting to whisk them away?"

"Damn book, did you know the Muggles made it into one of their picture shows too? Penny's mum let them watch it when she had the kids the other week. The girls won't bloody shut up about it. I'm tempted to introduce them to a real vampire to scare them off it."

Boot's half-serious tone of voice set Ron off onto a fresh wave of laughter. The officious former Ravenclaw blushed, and began to speak over Ron's consistent snickers. He listed off the various charms that had been placed on the house, which included a newer one meant to track anyone who had used a dark spell in a five mile radius in the last 24 hours. When he noticed that Ron was still tittering he signed and tapped his foot. A moment later, a smug grin over took Terry Boot's face.

"We're about finished here, Auror Weasley, but you might want to get inside. Your wife returned half an hour ago and she didn't look too pleased. If I were you I'd brush the crumbs off of my robes before I went inside—she was muttering something about you being off eating desserts with your brothers rather than going to her office after your chat with the Minister."

Ron's face darkened immediately, all traces of laughter gone as he swallowed nervously. He supposed he deserved the quiet laughter coming from Boots. He would have loved to tell the former Ravenclaw off for not telling him Hermione was home in the first place, but that would just take up more time. Instead, he gave Boot a curt nod and headed towards the Cottage door, dreading what awaited him inside.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Bloody Potter, can't keep his damn mouth shut. Probably ran right to Hermione as soon as I left. Why he can't ke—OW!" Ron crossed the threshold of his home only to be tripped up by an angry greeting from Crookshanks. The half-kneazle was alternately head butting his shins and taking swipes at them with his claws. Ron had long since made friends with the aging Crookshanks, , and he knew that such a violent move on the part of the ginger cat meant only one thing—Hermione was somewhere in the house crying. Swallowing yet another pang of guilt, Ron nervously made his way into the sitting room.

He found her sitting in her favorite chair. Hermione practically disappeared into the over-stuffed old leather armchair, an illusion that was helped by the way she hugged a large pillow to her chest. His wife's eyes were red and Ron could see the tearstains on her cheeks. But rather than rush to comfort her, Ron shifted his feet nervously as he caught her gaze. Her eyes were not filled with sadness, but a slow, boiling anger. Fighting against his own temper, Ron forced himself to try and remain calm as he spoke to her.

"'Lo, Hermione. I suppose Harry came and talked to you, then?"

It was several moments before his wife spoke, and the cold, dead voice she used took him aback.

"No, Ronald. Harry didn't come to me. I had to corner him in his office. You see, I went down to the Auror's office this morning to drop off some research I'd done for Smith's case concerning centaurs. Imagine my surprise when none other than Pansy bloody Zabini started offering me her condolences and asking if I'd like her to do anything for me in this 'terrible time.' I'm sure I must have looked quite the fool to her as I stood there and sputtered for a full minute before barging into Harry's office. THEN I had to spend a good quarter of an hour arguing with my life long best friend to get him to tell me what was going on." Here, Hermione narrowed her eyes and Ron swore he could see her curls getting more and more frazzled as her anger rose.

"The two of you are completely and totally unbelievable. I cannot believe that you didn't come talk to me immediately!"

Ron felt his temper flare, and he clenched his fists at his sides. "Hermione, you need to just calm down. You don't—"

"Oh _bollocks_ to that!" When Ron failed to suppress an instinctive smile at his wife's swearing, Hermione screamed in frustration and the threw the pillow at his head. It hit him square in the face, startling him enough that he stumbled back a few steps. In that moment, Hermione had stood and was now standing in front of him, hands on her hips.

Gazing down at his wife, Ron clenched his teeth to keep from screaming back at her. "Hermione, it's an ongoing case, you know I'm not allowed to disc—"

"This isn't like all of your other work, Ron! There's some lunatic out to get revenge on you! And to make it worse, you didn't even come to tell me! No, instead you went and had tea with your _brothers._ So don't try and tell me you can't bloody discuss it! This isn't just some case, this is our _family_!"

And with that, Ron felt his temper snap. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I _know_ it's our family! I _know _how bad the situation is! I'm the one who had the pleasure of having to sit in Kingsley's office while a cursed letter told me that they're going to KILL people because of what some lunatic considers my failures. I've been an Auror for nearly 20 years, so I think I'd know a little bit about how lunatics pick their victims. So yes, I am fully aware of the fact that our family is in danger!"

"Oh good, I'm _so_ glad you're aware of the fact, Ron! But if you hadn't realized, that's not exactly my sodding point now is it?" Hermione was now practically standing on Ron's toes, yelling up into his face. "You left me in the dark about all of it!"

Frustrated and angry, Ron gave back as good as he was getting, "Too right I did! And with that big brain of yours, I'm surprised you haven't puzzled out why!"

"I don't give a damn about your supposed reasonings! The fact is that I should have been the first person you came to after you spoke with Kingsley!"

And with that last comment, Ron felt himself give way to his temper, "The fact IS, Hermione, that maybe you should give a gamn about the why instead of getting your knickers in a twist that I didn't come to you!" He could tell his outburst had shocked his wife, but he wasn't about to give her time to interrupt him.

"But no, you have to have your feelings hurt and decide that this is somehow a slight against you or your magical abilities. Well get it straight—I know you're ruddy brilliant, I've known it since we were eleven. I've seen you accomplish astounding spell work, hell, I'm sure I've still got scars from those damn birds of yours. What you don't understand is that none of that bloody well matters right now!"

Pausing to take a deep breath, Ron ran his fingers through his hair. When next he spoke his voice was full of pent up frustration and fear.

"What matters is that all of this is my fault. Whether knowingly or not, I've put people in danger—a complete stranger died today because of me, and this is just the beginning. I've seen cases like this before, I know what happens. I can see the pattern as easily as I can see Harry's chess moves. If the lunatic is willing to use strangers in some attempt to get to me, it's only a matter of time before he starts to come after my family!"

Ron could his feel his anger evaporating , replaced by an overpowering sadness and dread. Tears pricked his eyes, but he kept going.

"So no, I didn't go to you after the meeting with Kingsley. I didn't because I know I wouldn't be able to handle looking at you just then. Because all I knew that all I would see would be images of you and the kids soaked in blood like that girl was today, and it would be entirely my fault. I wouldn't have done my job, and I'd be lost. . ." Ron pushed by Hermione and allowed himself to collapse on the couch, his breath catching in sobs. "And if that's not good enough for you, then sod it." Tears were pouring down his face and Ron screwed his eyes shut in a poor attempt to stop them.

He sat there for a few moments, wallowing in his guilt when he felt Hermione gently push him back into the couch. He moved to make a protest, but suddenly his wife was straddling his lap and kissing him with an almost desperate need. She had thrown her arms around his neck, and he felt a twinge of pain as she threaded her fingers through his hair.

As he had been so many years ago in the Room of Requirement, Ron was surprised by Hermione's sudden display of passion. It wasn't long, however, before he was responding in kind. He grabbed her hips with his hands and pulled her closer to him, all the while kissing her with the little licks and nips he knew drove her mad.

The Auror part of him knew that they were just putting of the argument. He knew that this sudden, mad need for sex was an attempt to prove their vitality in the face of this new horror. And he knew that later, he would probably feel bad for giving in to the overwhelming need currently screaming through his veins.

Ron Weasley knew all of these things, but he didn't give a damn. Not now, with Hermione in his arms warm and alive, forcing back the dark tidings of the day. He would gladly take this respite in the shelter of her arms.

And sod all of this mental explanation anyway, he was randy as hell.

Still holding her in place he thrust up and around in a slow circle, grinding against her. He felt Hermione gasp against his mouth, before she began to desperately press herself harder against him. For several minutes, Ron made no move to take things any further—enjoying snogging his wife like a teenager and hearing her increasingly impatient moans. Eventually, Hermione took her hands out of his hair and Ron felt her begin searching for her wand. With a possessive growl, he took his hands of her hips. With one, he swiftly captured both of her slender wrists while the other hand dove for the wand pocket she'd been sewing into her robes since they were teenagers. He cast a quick banishing charm on his clothes and Hermione's knickers before throwing the wand back over his shoulder. Groaning at the sudden friction against his now naked cock, Ron used one hand to pull up the fabric of Hermione's work robes and the other to pull her hair back so his mouth could go to that sweet spot on her neck.

"Ron I think you, oh Merlin, I uh, I think you forgot something when you did your ba-ba-banishing charm. Ooh!" Ron smirked against Hermione's neck, loving the way that just a little nibble at the spot where her neck met her shoulder could cause his wife to lose most of her composure. However, he wasn't going to be satisfied with just a little stuttering on Hermione's part.

"I didn't forget a damn thing and you know it. You know how hot it gets me to see you like this in your robes. Something about the contrast of prim and proper Hermione Weasley of the Ministry," Ron bent his head down to bite at Hermione's left breast through the fabric and was rewarded with a shriek of pleasure from his wife, "with my completely insatiable wife."

Hermione continued to squirm above him as Ron rubbed himself against her opening. He could feel her getting wetter with every move, but he still wasn't going to give in. Instead, he kept up a steady rhythm of biting and squeezing her still clothed breasts while rubbing his throbbing cock against her folds waiting for the rest of Hermione's composure to fall.

"GODS Ron, please, please, please, PLEASE! Just FUCK me alre—OOOH!" Ron groaned with his wife as he finally sheathed himself inside her. He had planned to torment her with slow shallow strokes to drag even more filthy language from her mouth—Hermione's habit of dirty talk during intense sex had always been a surprise turn on for him.

But once he could feel her hot, wet and slick around him he couldn't control himself. He grabbed Hermione's hips once more and began to thrust inside her hard, deep and fast. All of his senses were dominated by the mad, passionate sex he was having with his wife.

He could feel Hermione's nails digging into shoulder, her forehead pressed against his.

With every thrust he could hear her gasping his name over and over again.

The smell of sweat and musk filled his nostrils while their movements became more desperate, each close to release.

He could taste Hermione's lips and tongue as he kissed her to forestall her screaming as she came.

Then all he could see were Hermione's gorgeous chocolate brown eyes. His whole world was in those eyes as he felt her spasm around him. With a final thrust, he felt himself let go and come inside her, calling out her name and how much he loved her over and over again.

And as it always happened for Ron, the first few moments after lovemaking became a blurry mess, and he felt Hermione gently guide him to lie down on the couch. He heard her cast a few cleansing spells and slide a pair of boxers onto his body. She covered him with his favorite Chudley Cannon's blanket, but when she tried to move away he pulled her down to him. Burying his face in her hair, Ron begged her not to leave him alone. When her arms encircled him and she promised not to go, he let himself slide into sleep, clinging fervently to the woman he loved above all things in this world.


End file.
